


(not) broken

by mikkal



Series: giggle not into the abyss [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, pre-game, young!noct
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkal/pseuds/mikkal
Summary: “Can you feel this?”Noct wants to say yes so badly, he does. But he feels absolutely nothing.Noctis is eight years old, two months away from nine, and he can’t feel his legs.





	(not) broken

**Author's Note:**

> Fictober prompt day 1 "Can you feel this?"
> 
> fudged the timeline, as you do. Second shortest thing I've written this year. And even though I didn't take it from the whumptober list, it's still whump/hurt/comfort....yeah.

“Can you feel this?”

            Noct wants to say yes so badly, he does. But the doctor presses a sharp point of against a nerve in his foot, he watches her do it, and there’s…nothing. He feels absolutely nothing.

            He shakes his head mutely. She sighs, sitting back on her heels. Last time they tried this he’d been laying down and she was at the foot of his bed. Now, he’s strong enough to sit up with only minimal trembling and his legs are swung over the edge. He can almost brush the ground with his toes. If he stretches in a way he’s not supposed to, he can definitely touch the tile. The tile that is supposed to be cool and smooth against his bare skin.

He still feels nothing.

            Noctis is eight years old, two months away from nine, and he can’t feel his legs.

            Noct stares at his knees, eyes burning with tears he won’t let fall. He _won’t_. He scrubs at his face, blotching his cheeks red, and listens to the doctor leave to tell his dad the bad news. He’s got an heir who can’t walk. He covers his face with both hands, curling over to dig his elbows into his thighs. The heel of his palm gets pressed into the sockets of his eye, the blackness sparking in color the harder he presses. His throat itches and closes up, his chest hitches.

            No, he won’t cry.

            The door opens again. Noct winces behind his hands at the creaking rasp of his dad’s knee brace, hears it click against the ground as he kneels in front of his son. A soft, calloused hand grips his shoulder, the other cups the back of his head. Slowly, his dad pulls him forward until Noct’s forehead rests against his collarbone. Regis runs his fingers through the dark hair he inherited from his mom, presses his lips on the side of his head.

            Noct breaks out in heaving sobs, hot and humid trapped in his hands like this. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. The words catch in his chest and break on his tongue. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

            His dad takes a deep, deliberate breath and says in the calmest voice he’s ever heard: “What are you sorry for?”

            “I’m broken.”

            Regis pulls away. Noct resists the urge to grab for him, instead allows his dad to put some distance between them. The tears come faster now. But he’s shocked to see tears in Regis’ eyes as well, falling when they make eye contact.

            “You’re not broken,” his dad says firmly. The hand on his shoulder tightens its grip and shakes him a little. “Never say that again. You’re not broken.”

            Noct shakes his head, nearly falls of the bed with his sense of balance being so off but his dad keeps him there easily. “I can’t walk,” he says. And it hurts to say it. “I can’t feel my legs. I can’t be a prince like this.”

            His lips press into a thin line. “Yes, you can,” he replies just as easily as keeping Noct steady. “There have been many a kings and queens of yore with disabilities. Their rules were as justified as mine and your grandfather’s. Your inability to walk means nothing to your ability to be king.”

            Noct bites his lip, looks away. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again anyway.

            Regis grabs his chin gently between his thumb and pointer, pulling down to get him to release his lip and turning so they’re facing each other once more. “I accept your completely unnecessary apology,” he says with a sad smile. “And all I ask is that you don’t apologize again. For my sake if not anyone else’s.” When Noct can’t do anything but stare at the decorations on his dad’s raiment in despair, Regis sighs. “We’re going to Tenebrae.”

            “What?” Noct blurts out, eyes widening. Momentarily, he forgets why he’s in the medical wing and why his dad looks so sad, bolstered by the idea of going to another country. Especially _Tenebrae_. “Why?”

            His dad’s eye flicker down to Noct’s bare toes. He follows to see them dangling there, lifeless. The cuffs of his pants sit high on his ankles, revealing dark lines stretching downward to curl around the heel of his feet. The nurse won’t let him look at the origins of the lines but assure him it’s not an infection. Which, if it’s not an infection, then what is it?

            “We’re going to see Sylva,” his dad answers.

            Noct gasps in childish wonderment. “Queen Sylva?” he demands. “Sylva Via Fleuret? Your friend, the Oracle?”

            His dad can’t help but laugh. “Do you know any other Sylva?”

            Noct shakes his head rapidly. “Queen Sylva,” he breathes out in surprised happiness. “Astrals, this is awesome.”

            Regis pats the crown of his head, gaining his attention. “I’m glad you’re excited, but I need you to answer a question for me, okay?”

            “Okay.”

            “Are you in any pain?”

            That hadn’t been the question he was expecting. He furrows his eye brows and thinks, taking stock of the parts of his body he can still feel. “No?” he offers tentatively. “My back aches and my neck hurts. But that’s it.” The light hurts his eyes and his tired, always tired. But that last bit isn’t anything new. “When do we leave?”

            “As soon as possible,” Regis says. He helps Noct scoot back until he’s laying in bed. “If you feel any pain at all, I want you to call a nurse right away, all right?”

            Noct yawns, fingers tight on the cuff of his father’s sleeve. “Yeah,” he says. He didn’t think he was tired, but now his eyes are a chore to keep open. “What’s wrong?”

            His dad combs his hair again, scritching his nails on Noct’s scalp. “Nothing,” he says assuredly. “It’ll all be okay.”

            Noct hums out a quiet reply, half asleep already. The point where his dad touches his head is warm and tingling. It feels like magic, a far away part of him remembers.

            The next morning, a nurse tries to wake the prince for breakfast. Only for Noct to remain fast asleep, his breathing labored. The dark lines that had seemed content with his body mid back and down, now creep along his ribs and to his shoulders, threading devouring lines towards his heard.

            _As soon as possible_ turns into right then and there. King Regis takes his son and all but runs to Tenebrae in hopes of Sylva’s healing, begging the gods not to take his son so soon.


End file.
